Beowulf's Struggle
by Zandoz
Summary: A story in the making, this is the first draft of a Beowulf story I have kicking around in my mind. This particular part will be dealing with the massive fight between Beowulf and Grendel's mother.


The pair of horsemen threaded their way through the rocky mountain path, past the gurgling brook, through the dense alpine forest to the place of rest of that icy water, a lake. But not just any lake, _the_ Lake. The men gazed long upon the deep still mere, determination writ upon the countenance of one of them. Warriors both, dressed in leather and fur against the elements and danger, only one dismounts.

"May the Gods watch over you, my friend," the more slender, mounted one spoke.

"And may we feast in Hrothgar's fine hall before this day ends," responded the other.

"Be careful, Beowulf."

"I shall, Uthgart. I swore an oath," and with that he solemnly approached the mere, shucking off his pack and heavy cloak--it would only entangle him where he was going. As his stride lengthened his long sandy hair stirred in the breeze and he double checked his sword, the weregild bestowed to him by his companion Uthgart, treasure of that Danish warrior's family.

Beowulf removed his riding gloves, glanced down and flexed his powerful, calloused hands. Less than a fortnight ago he engaged the evil Grendel and won, the creature slinking away with one arm gone--still in Beowulf's hands. And now he must confront the monster's mother. The last few steps to the lakeside and he noticed all had gone still..nothing moved, no bird cheeped, no flies buzzed. Dragging his blue eyes downward he peered at the water's surface, unsure of what must be done to get the hag's attention.

"Hoy! Demon bitch!," the Geatish hero went for the direct tack. Straining his eyes he thought he detected a ripple in the water. No, perhaps he was mistaken. Feeling a little foolish he looked back the way he came at the small distant figure of Uthgart still ahorse.

The air thrummed with expectation; his ears were nearly humming. Then two long, thin arms shot out of the lake to clutch Beowulf by the legs. With an undignified "Ooof!," he was pulled, thrashing, under the lake's surface. Twisting in the monstrous grasp he was face to face with his attacker. He first assumed it posessed a grotesque demon face but saw that it was a helmet and maks with two baleful amethyst eyes staring back at him. It was her, Grendel's mother! Something struck his ribs, bruising them, he continued writhing as he was yanked ever downward. His hand locked onto a slim wrist which terminated in a wicked-looking dagger, but his magic corselet protected him. Beowulf was amazed at the incredible strength in which he was held in a vise grip. However the female was baffled in her attempts to stick him and end the conflict quickly.

Beowulf brought his knee up to her solar plexus, giving him more room. Not enough to swing the longsword but enough to bring a small blad down on the the fearsome helmet, denting it. He next went for the neck, intending to sink it up to the hilt, but Grendel's mother brought her vambrace-covered arm up to deflect it. Then she was swimming away, further down, retreating. Lungs burning with need for air the man went after her. He was favored by the Aesir and he would finish the task, he thought grimly.

His chest was almost bursting when his booted feet scraped gravel, and surprised and grateful rose up on the shore of an underwater cave, a secret grotto. Gasping he was immediately alert, a few scattered lamps gave off a stuttering, flickering light, revealing mounds of human bones and a treasure trove of gold, silver, coins, jewels, weapons and armor. Beowulf gripped his sword two-handed, scanning the surroundings.

"So, you are the great Beowulf," came a mocking female voice.

"Aye, the monster-slayer," he affirmed.

"Slayer of my son!," she snarled, the sound bouncing off the cave walls.

"And how many innocent folk did he slay?," he goaded her.

"I am Hulda," she stated after a few moments. "And I--"

"It matters not to me, demon," Beowulf cut in, frustrated he couldn't locate her..

Soft feminine laughed echoed all around him and his sharp blue eyes darted left and right, sure she would strike where he least expected it. "I am hardly a _demon_," she mused, and the Geat spotted two violet points of light coming toward him from some distance. Finally the tall figure halted in the pale light of one of the lamps and removed the battle-helmet.

A mass of thick raven hair fell to her waist, framing a gaunt but hauntingly beautiful face. Long pointed ears sprouted from the ebony locks on either side of her head, slanted violet eyes regarded him silently. Her skin was an unnatural pale silvery-grey and smooth, neck long, body lean and angular. She was clad in strange segmented armor and bright, vivid clothes peeked out from underneath. "Did you think I was a hag?," she snorted. "Is that what King Hrothgar told you?"

"You are..."

"I am Alfen. I am of the Dark Elf-kind, a Drow. And now thanks to you I am the last of my kind. I started to tell you what brought us to this pass,..my race has been hunted to the point of extinction by yours, a wanton, careless, feckless lot. My son Grendel was an unfortunate experiment. I simply refused to allow my people to die out."

"So Hrothgar IS Grendel's father," Beowulf spoke.

"Aye, and it appears that our races do not mix so easily."

"I don't blame you for that, but why send Grendel forth to kill and destroy?"

"I didn't send him, you fool," she she snorted again. "He was an imperfect mixture of human and Drow, and he was very sensitive to noise and vibration. He moved to a lair of his own as children will do when they feel they are old enough and when Hrothgar built that wretched hall the feasts lasted long into the night. The merriment and singing, drunken voices irritated him past the point of reason, and he struck out at the source of his misery. The resentment of his absent father must've added to the rage, I'm afraid--such a half-breed could never be acknowledged, let alone inherit the throne of the Mark of the Danes."

"But he crushed them, tossed them like children's dolls, drank their very blood!," exclaimed the man. "I witnessed such horrors that I'd not ever seen in all my travels. Such a creature cannot be allowed free reign! "

"Tis a moot point now, hothead. My son is dead, he died in my arms as he first opened his eyes in the world."

"And you! You slaughtered many men and women in your revenge. We saw them hanging from the rafters like so much meat. That is evil. I see now that you are no demon, beast, nor even a hag, but you are dangerous and vile. I can understand why my people tried to killl you out. You have no conscience."

"You are one to talk!," she barked, large, liquid eyes sparkling with anger. "Our ways are not your ways, nor even the Light Elves', but we have our own rules we follow. Norsemen are the most fickle, violent, greedy, shallow fuckers I've ever encountered. Unruly, uncivilized, rude, dirty stinking pigs, the lot of you! It is beyond me how your kind inherited Mid-gard and a future while we were left to rot."

"I came to kill you, Lady," and he gave her the title and the respect that went with it.

"I know. But I have a counter-proposal for you. I have traveled a great distance to get here and I know I've worn out my welcome. I must find an even lesser-inhabited domain in which to settle, far away I assure you. Also...a hero of your stature, a favorite of the Aesir, might give me a more normal child." She smiled.

"Ahhh," he was quite taken aback.

"I could make it worth your while," she went on, cocking her head saucily at him. "Not only am I accomplished at lovemaking, you can have your pick over my hoard. You could go home a mighty King."

The tip of Beowulf's sword began to waver. "And how do I know you would keep your word?"

"You want proof, do you? I will let you take my son's head as proof and I will swear over his body."


End file.
